I moved to the sofa, sinking into the worn cushions. The rain had softened to a steady patter. Cord followed, settling beside me with his coffee.
"I'm not avoiding the question," I said. "Maybe I am. A little. But not in a bad way." I shifted closer. "These past few days have been... clarifying. Being here with you, away from everything else… it's reminded me what's important."
"And what's that?"
"Connection. Being present. Not getting so caught up in plans and worries that I miss what's right in front of me." I reached for his hand. "The gallery, the foundation issues—they'll still be there tomorrow. Right now, I'd rather be here."
His fingers curled around mine. "I'd rather you be here too." He hesitated. "But I don't want to be the reason you put your dreams on hold."
"You're not. Quite the opposite." I squeezed his hand. "If anything, being with you has reminded me why those dreams matter. Why creating spaces for beauty and connection is worth the struggle."
The rain had stopped completely, sunlight beginning to break through, creating that post-storm glow that made everything look freshly washed and vibrant. I stood, pulling Cord gently to his feet.
"Come on," I said, heading for the door. "Let's check that roof before Dr. Hart calls."
The afternoon passed quickly after we dealt with the roof, which turned out to be minor. Just a few loose shingles I secured with Vincent's ladder and a hammer from the storage shed. Cord supervised from below, his coaching precise and helpful despite not being able to climb up himself.
Later, I sat on the sofa, pretending to sketch while eavesdropping on Cord's conversation with Dr. Hart.
"Yes, I understand," Cord said, pacing near the kitchenette. "The anxiety's still there, but it's... manageable now. Different." He paused, listening. "Yeah, I've been doing the breathing exercises Dusty showed me. They help."
I kept my head down, pencil moving across the page without creating anything meaningful. My mind was too busy processing what I was hearing.
"I'll look into that when I get back to Denver," Cord continued. "Finding a therapist makes sense. Someone who specializes in athletes and career transitions." Another pause. "Yes, back to The Ranch tomorrow morning, then a couple more days before heading home."
The words hit harder than they should have. Just a couple more days in this bubble we'd created, then he'd return to his real life and I'd... what? Go back to The Ranch for another couple of weeks before leaving for Marfa myself?
"I appreciate that, Doc. See you at our check-in tomorrow." Cord hung up and turned toward me.
I focused on my sketch, hoping he hadn't noticed my reaction. We hadn't talked about what would happen after our time at the cabin ended.
Somehow, I'd managed to avoid thinking about it at all.
"Everything cool?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"Yeah." Cord crossed the room, his movements more fluid than they'd been days ago. "Hart is happy with my progress. Says I should find someone in Denver to continue the work we've started."
"That's good advice."
He stood before me now, looking down with an expression I couldn't quite read. Without warning, he moved forward, gently taking my sketchbook and setting it aside before climbing onto my lap, straddling me.
"I promised the doc I'd keep up with my movement exercises," he said, his voice dropping lower as he reached for the hem of his t-shirt. "Said I needed to maintain my range of motion."
The shirt came off in one smooth movement. He still held his injured shoulder with care, but moved with growing confidence.
"Is that right?" My hands found his waist, steadying him.
"Mmm-hmm." He leaned forward, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened. "Very important for my recovery."
Whatever clever response I might have made disappeared as his hands slipped beneath my shirt, warm against my skin. We moved together with the easy familiarity we'd developed, clothes discarded, bodies finding their rhythm.
This wasn't like our encounter by the stream. Less desperate, more deliberate. Each touch seemed to say something words couldn't. When he guided me inside him, his eyes held mine with an intensity that made my chest ache as he rolled his hips, head falling back with each deep thrust.
This wasn't just sex.
Afterward, we lay tangled together on the sofa, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow.
"When's the best time to visit Marfa?" Cord asked, his fingers tracing patterns on my back.
